Try it, Punk!
by MidknightPhantom
Summary: When a proud, insufferable punk moves into Alfred's area, the poor American never expected to be forced to share a dorm room with him, be led into untold danger because of him, and definitely never expected to... fall in love with him? New summary.
1. Chapter 1

Alfred groaned, clutching his shoulder. The training session with the football team was really rough today... It was all he wanted to get straight back to the dorm block before he strained his muscles further.

Looking around, Alfred was slightly confused at the amount of people in the corridors. Classes had finished fifteen minutes ago, why was everyone sticking around?

"Oi, _mon ami, _Alfred!" came a call. Alfred turned his head to see Francis Bonnefoy, his 'friend' of sorts whom he preferred to call an acquaintance. Since the gorgeous blonde figure was usually surrounded by girls, Alfred became slightly more confused when Francis was completely alone, despite the unusual amount of students still in the corridors.

"'Ave you seen ze new guy? Ugh, ze nerve of 'im! 'E's stealing all of my fans!"

Ah. That explained it.

Alfred snickered. "Fans?"

Francis narrowed his eyes slightly. "Oui, ze girls that adore moi. If you weren't such a gay boy you'd 'ave some too.~"

Alfred's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and he glared heatedly at Francis. "GAY?"

The blonde boy chuckled. "Friendly teasing, _mon ami._"

"Hmph."

Francis looked around for a moment before continuing. "Anyway, I 'ear 'e's dangerous. Be careful of 'im, oui?"

"Yeah, yeah. What class is he in?"

Francis sighed. "B."

"Oh…then he's with me." Alfred felt slightly curious at the thought.

Francis looked at him before walking away. "Be careful, _mon ami._"

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, yeah." How dangerous could another guy _be_? Pfft.

Suddenly the corridors erupted into loud squealing and mutterings. Alfred turned his head in slight annoyance to shock as his eyes fell on the figure making his way down the hall.

Punk. That was the only word that could ever do him justice. The sheer look of him could reduce any mother to tears.

His hair, of which his natural colour was difficult to tell, was dyed in streaks of emerald green, red, blue and white, flecks of blonde dotted about. It was gelled into a messy yet somehow perfect style, a few rogue strands of hair fluttering in front of his face and framing eyes of blazing acid green. His thick eyebrows were studded with piercings, as did his lip, nose, and the glint in his mouth suggested his tongue as well.

His _clothes, _too. Whatever happened to a school uniform? He was dressed in a thick denim jacket covered in various pins and badges, extremely slim jeans that showed off his physique, a torn shirt with the Union Jack adorning it, and heavy, clunky boots that thumped against the ground with every step.

_That… that must be the new kid, huh._

"Excuse me. Can I have a word?" came an angry call from the end of the corridor. The punk turned to see the vice principal, Mr Edelstein, walking with a calm guise towards him with narrowed eyes.

"Your appearance is strictly against our school guidelines," he stated, glaring with distaste.

The punk smirked and shrugged his shoulders. "Shame, that."

Mr Edelstein growled softly. "Dye those ridiculous colours out of your hair by tomorrow!"

Taking out a packet of chewing gum from his pocket, the punk ignored him further, unwrapping one. "Can't."

His attempts to wind up the vice principal seemed to be working, as Mr Edelstein let out an angry yell of impatience and snatched the packet of gum away. The punk raised his hands in mock defeat and laughed.

"Could've just _asked_ if you wanted one." The girls and several boys who had gathered around began laughing at the scene.

Mr Edelstein managed to maintain his calm composure again and breathed out. "Detention."

The punk merely laughed again, and walked off. "Lonely, mate? Won't come to it."

Alfred watched with wide eyes. Nobody had been able to backchat Mr Edelstein before!

When the gathered crowd began to disperse as Mr Edelstein left, Alfred still stood there in half-frozen shock. The punk grinned and walked over, shoving a timetable into his face.

"Oi, where's that?" he asked, pointing to a room number.

Alfred's speech was muffled from the sudden sheet of paper blocking his mouth as he tried to struggle away. The punk noticed, and pulled it back slightly, laughing.

"Pleh…" murmured Alfred. His eyes focused better on the sheet of paper as his gaze fell upon the number.

275.

His dorm room.

"Uh, sure, that's my dorm. Why?"

The punk screwed up his face in repugnance. "Oh great, I'm sharing with the fucking gay kid," he snorted. Alfred snarled, retaliating instantly.

"WHAT?"

"Oh, everyone's been saying it. Especially Gilbert. He wont shut up about how flaming you are."

Alfred's blood boiled. "I'M. NOT. GAY."

The punk snickered. "Sure. Now, since I'm sharing with ya, can you show me where my dorm is?"

"_Our_ dorm…" muttered Alfred, lacing his tone with hatred as he walked out of the block, the punk trailing after him. Turning to face him for a moment, his eyes widened again as he saw him lighting a cigarette.

"_Hey_!" he yelled.

The punk took a long drag and breathed it out, taking care to choke Alfred on it. When the smoke cleared and Alfred had stopped coughing, he smirked.

"Yeah?"

Alfred snarled. "Dammit! Nevermind, come on!" he hissed, walking faster than normal up the stairs to his dorm. He pulled open the door and made his way to his bed, falling down against it, glaring up at the figure he'd have to share a room with.

"Hmph. Small."

Alfred glared. "It's a dorm, not an apartment."

The punk kicked off his heavy boots and relaxed on his own bed, scowling as the cigarette ran short. He tossed it onto the floor and stamped it out, wincing slightly in pain and chuckling.

"Should'a left my boots on for that…"

Alfred snickered. "Glad it hurt."

"Fuck you."

There was a slight pause until Alfred decided to talk to the punk again.

"So, you got a name?" he asked.

"Mmhm. Arthur Kirkland," he announced with a smirk.

There was another pause.

"…Never heard of me?"

Alfred looked genuinely confused. "Nope."

"Ha. You need to go to more clubs, gay boy," said Arthur.

"STOP CALLING ME GAY!" yelled Alfred, clenching his fists.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down," laughed Arthur. He lay a large guitar bag against the wall carefully, and glared at Alfred through narrowed eyes.

"Touch my guitar and die," he warned, flopping back down onto his bed. "And wake me at six tonight."

Alfred glared. "I'm not your slave, wake yourself up."

"Hmph. Fine, git," Arthur retorted, taking out his phone and setting an alarm, tucking it under his pillow.

He must have fallen asleep rather quickly, because he hadn't moved an inch when Alfred glared at him moments after and muttered some profanity under his breath. Alfred told himself firmly that he was staring at the punk because he hated him, not because he was so god damn attractive…


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the reviews! Seriously, SIX? :D Reviews make me happy!**

Alfred wondered why on earth Arthur seemed so intent on waking up at 6. That was only in two hours, right? There was really no point in him going to sleep… He shrugged and decided to get on with some science homework, groaning inwardly at the boring symbols that covered his page. He reached over to his CD player and jabbed at the play button, smiling as a favourite track of his flooded the room, his science homework soon becoming easier to do.

There was an annoyed murmur from the other side of the room.

"Nn… turn that shit down…" growled Arthur in his sleep, rolling over.

Alfred smirked. "No."

In an almost practised motion, Arthur sleepily raised his middle finger at Alfred and sprawled out further on his bed, soon settling back down into sleep.

…

Alfred had quickly lost track of the time, his homework lying forgotten on the ground and a comic book in his hands. It came as a shock to him when the alarm rang, even though it was slightly muffled under Arthur's pillow.

Running fingers through his vibrant hair, Arthur sat up blearily and snarled at his phone, slamming a hand onto it to shut it up.

"Ugh…" The punk picked up his bag and guitar, swinging them both over his shoulder as he turned to Alfred.

"See you tomorrow," he said shortly.

Alfred tilted his head. "Huh? Tomorrow?"

Arthur shrugged. "Mm. You'll be asleep when I come back, I bet. It'll be around… three?"

"Where the hell are you going, anyway?"

The punk grinned. "Performing."

Alfred groaned. "Don't make too much noise."

He looked up from his comic to see Arthur smirking, his fist clenched protectively around his guitar bag, chuckling softly.

"Heh. You'll hear me from across the street, mate."

…

The dorm block was positioned barely a road away from the popular nightclub _Spades_ on the corner of the high street, which was really an inconvenience for Alfred who enjoyed his sleep. Bands played all the time throughout the late hours of the week, but he'd never heard so many girls squealing as tonight.

Pfft. How good could this guy _be_, he looked like a girl!

When the blaring music and noise had died down, Alfred settled in his bed with the intention of perhaps getting a few hours of shut-eye tonight, not anticipating the loud slam of the door opening and clattering against the wall. Eyes snapping open in alarm, Alfred tried to stay as quiet as he could.

_Whoa, was that… Arthur?_

God, he looked different. His hair was gelled even more than before, yet more strands had come loose and his hairspray was starting to reek. Thick eye makeup framed his tired eyes and leaked slightly down his face and onto his pin-strewn clothes. Alfred barely held back a snicker at how rough and girly he looked. Who the hell was a guy who wore _makeup_?

Arthur groaned and kicked the door shut, shrugging off his bag and guitar case before throwing himself onto his bed, falling asleep in an instant.

Alfred smirked.

…

He awoke the next morning to see Arthur still sprawled out across his bed in exactly the same position, his eyeliner rubbing onto the thick pillow that he was chewing. Alfred sighed and wandered over, suddenly taken aback by the overpowering stench of hairspray. Ugh, he put that shit in his hair too?

Eyes flashing with a sudden idea, Alfred grinned and picked up a can of air-freshener, approaching Arthur again and spraying it heavily all over him.

Arthur was awake in an instant, spluttering and coughing.

"W-What the bloody hell was THAT?"

Alfred stood over him with a grin plastered on his face. "You stink, dude."

Arthur snarled. "Doesn't give you reason to do that!"

"Actually, yeah, it does. You woke me up when you came back last night."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Awww. Did Alfie's wittle dreams get disturbed?"

"No, actually. Though it was some sorta nightmare when I saw _you _walk in. The hell's with the makeup?"

Arthur snarled again, rubbing at his eye and smudging it further. "Shut up and let me sleep, dammit."

Alfred laughed. "Pfft. You some sorta girl?"

"I'm more of a man than you, gay boy."

Alfred's smile disappeared, a look of fuming anger upon his face. "I'm not fucking GAY!"

"Yeah, yeah." Arthur stood up and wandered into the small bathroom the dorm had, running a finger through his hair and massaging his lip, pulling out a silver ring. "Should've taken this out…"

Alfred watched as Arthur washed the gel and various other chemicals out of his hair then dried it with a towel, reapplying a thin coat of eyeliner. Alfred laughed.

"Making yourself all pretty in there?" he jeered.

"Shut it, gay boy."

Alfred was about to retort until Arthur walked back into the dorm, smirking at him, knowing he'd touched another nerve. He narrowed his eyes at the filthy punk. He'd already lost his patience with him.

His mind drifted for a moment until he heard a soft snipping sound from the other end of the room. Arthur was sat on his bed with his new blazer thrown over an arm, cutting various angles into it and studding it with pins.

"What the hell are you doing?" exclaimed Alfred.

"Making sure I don't wear boring shit like you," the punk replied, pulling on his plaid pants that were much more fitting than Alfred's, a twinge of jealously prickling inside.

Alfred looked up at Arthur who was proudly wearing his newly customized blazer, secretly admiring the brash cuts he had made and the way the sleeves were evenly balanced with decoration.

"Looks good on me~?" asked Arthur, smirking again having noticed Alfred staring. The darker blond turned his head and snapped.

"Looks shit."

Arthur only laughed and swung his bag over his shoulder.

"Don't lie."


	3. Chapter 3

Saying the day was hell would be an understatement. Putting Arthur in an organised area was like mixing oil and water. … No, in fact, it was like lighting oil on fire. An absolute disaster.

"So… what's first lesson?" Arthur asked lazily, lighting a cigarette before Alfred grabbed it and stomped it out.

"Literature," he growled. "Ever heard of it?"

Arthur grinned. "Yes, and unlike you Americans, I know what it is, too."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Shut it."

The second they left the dorm building, Arthur was literally swarmed with girls. For the first time, Alfred could see why Francis was so annoyed. Practically half of the female student body of the school had heard of Arthur in the past two days he'd been here, and most of them were swooning like absolute idiots in front of him.

"Arthur!"

"Like, oh my god, you were amazing last night…"

"Your hair looks great today, Artie!"

Alfred's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. _Artie? _What kind of a stupid nickname was that? His stomach churned in sickly repugnance when Arthur gave a flattering smile and thanked them for their compliments by blowing a kiss that knocked a few of them out.

"Uh, Arthur?" came the simpering voice of yet another girl. Arthur turned to look at her as she handed him a small box wrapped in coloured cloth.

"I… baked you some food. Will you eat it?" she asked, blushing. Arthur took it from her and flashed her a dazzling smile.

"Why, of course. Thank you kindly, darling."

…_Man. His accent was hot._

As much as Alfred wanted to deny it – Arthur Kirkland had the fittest accent he'd ever heard.

The girl swooned madly and scampered off giddily, leaving Arthur and Alfred in the centre of two blocks alone together.

Arthur's friendly, endearing smile disappeared as he stalked over to a nearby trash can and tossed the box into it, dusting off his hands. Alfred's blood boiled.

"What the hell? She cooked that for you! You're not just gonna-"

Arthur only smirked and flicked him the middle finger. "It's up to me what I do. And trust me, her food is awful."

Alfred looked around and grimaced. "You're lucky she didn't see that…"

"Not lucky, just insanely talented.~"

Alfred growled again.

…

The two teens made their way into their English Literature class, Arthur being greeting again with blushes and mutterings. He grinned and sat down in the vacant desk in front of Alfred's, leaning against the wall, yawning loudly and twirling a pen in his fingers.

The teacher – a slightly small, brunette girl who looked barely old enough to be in college – stood at the front of the room.

"Alright, class. I know quite a few of you are new…" Her gaze lingered for a moment on Arthur. "…but do try to keep up."

She had barely turned to write something on the board when Arthur propped his feet up onto the desk. The teacher cleared her throat and looked calmly at the punk.

"Mr Kirkland?" she called, to which Arthur looked up and smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Feet down, please," she said, firmly.

Arthur did nothing. "Tired, miss."

"No excuse, Mr Kirkland. Feet down."

"Nah."

The teacher's eye twitched, losing her patience rather quickly with him. "Do you want me to fail you?" she snapped.

Arthur laughed. "For keeping my feet on a desk?"

The teacher's eyes narrowed. "For disregarding authority."

The punk grinned, taking his feet down and leaning forward on his desk. "Ooh. Want me to show you what _I_ call 'disregarding authority' after class, babe?"

The class filled with nervous laughter and snickering from the guys at the back as the poor teacher turned bright red with anger and slammed her folder down onto the desk. "You god damn-"

Arthur lifted a hand, smiling. "Ah~ah~ah. Teacher's aren't allowed to offend students.~"

And just to annoy her further, he placed his feet on the table again.

"Mr Kirkland!" the teacher snarled. "Feet _down_!"

Arthur smirked, unwrapping some gum and starting to chew it. "Nope."

"Detention, then!"

The punk smirked. "You _do_ want to disregard some authority, then?~"

The teacher seemed to have a difficult time keeping her breath even with gritted teeth. "I want you to learn."

"Nah, you want to get a raise because of your well-behaved kids."

The teacher gave a yell of impatience and stormed over, slamming the folder again onto his desk. "Put it this way! If you behave, you can leave! Then I'll never have to teach you again!"

There was a short silence, broken by the abrupt ring of the bell.

"So… am I still staying back, babe?" asked Arthur, smirking as the teacher handed him a scribbled-in detention slip as she stormed out of the room, almost in tears.

Arthur merely laughed and shredded the paper into bits. "Pathetic."

Alfred could only stare. How the hell did he _do_ that? _How_ could he do that? The poor woman's confidence must be so low right now because of him!

Arthur looked back at him, those acid green eyes sparkling like his piercings that caught the window light.

Alfred snarled and left the classroom before he found himself blushing.

…

After several, rather blissful classes of little-to-no Arthur (he found himself thanking the irregular class groupings of optional subjects), returning back to life with the punk was a very irritating transition.

The second he walked in, he was greeted with the awful screeching of _the Sex Pistols_ blaring through his dorm room, Arthur nowhere to be found.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET A COPY OF MY DORM KEY?" yelled Alfred over all the noise, scanning the room for the punk that seemingly wasn't there. He covered his ears in annoyance and slammed the 'off' button on the boombox, the noise soon replaced by the faint running of water in the bathroom, marked 'vacant'.

"Arthur? You in here?" called Alfred, to no response, though the water had stopped. He turned the handle, slightly confused. It was more like the punk to yell some profanity to get him to go away, or something… not remain so quiet.

Pushing the door open, hand shaking very slightly (_of __**course**__ he wasn't worried!_), he was met by a horrifying sight that would be burned into his skull for the rest of his life.

…

**Hehe, sorry to keep you in suspense… **

**Guess in your reviews what you think Alfred saw? ^^**


	4. Chapter 4

…**I love you guys. You should've seen my face when I realised I had 7 reviews. :D And I have motivation for writing this story, now! ^^ So I won't be quitting halfway through, I intend to get this finished.**

**And well done to those who guessed right.~**

Upon opening the door, a reflex surged through Alfred's body the way it would if he had touched a hot plate or been jabbed with a needle.

He recoiled.

In fact, he recoiled so much he involuntarily smacked his head off the doorframe on his way back into the main room as he slammed the door closed, blocking out the horrifying vision and the mirth-filled laughter that had come with it.

Arthur Kirkland.

_Naked._

When Alfred had stopped shaking at the mere thought of the punk's horrible, disgusting body, he began to wonder if all of those feelings were just himself trying to cloak the fact that Arthur Kirkland had a chest to absolutely die for and that every inch of him was flawlessly white skin inked in certain areas with vivid tattoos, all of which dripping with slightly steaming water from the shower…

_NO, NO, NO!_

Alfred mentally screamed at himself to calm down as he foraged underneath his bed for some magazines full of girls that Francis had given him. He quickly slid it inside a large Biology textbook and began to read, hoping to get his body to start reacting naturally for a change. He wasn't gay, dammit! And at the end of the day, Arthur was just another guy, he'd totally understand that it was all a mistake that he walked in on him like that. A total misunderstanding.

Then he realized that they were both guys, and that sort of reaction made his situation look even worse.

_Oh god…_

The door opened again and Arthur walked out, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist and another one drying his hair. The asshole was still laughing at him.

"What's the matter, gay boy? Never seen a naked body before?" he sneered, walking over, those god-amazing abs on full display.

"G-Get lost, idiot, what the hell are you doing? Why didn't you lock the door?" Alfred yelled, scrambling back across his bed. Arthur snickered and sat on his own.

"I wouldn't think it was that much of a problem. I didn't expect _that_ sort of reaction," he chuckled, towel-drying his hair. He looked over again and smirked. "And I think you've got a little problem downstairs."

Alfred flushed angrily as he slammed the textbook down and ran into the bathroom to sort himself out, making sure to lock the door this time.

…

By the time Alfred had come out (he needed a little longer to compose himself), Arthur was lying down on his bed with the towel flat over his legs, his hair loose and dry. Without a speck of gel in it, his hair fluttered in a choppy style over part of his face and looked almost natural despite the incredulous colours in it. Also, with his face free of piercings, he looked almost… cute.

_NO, ALFRED, HE DOESN'T, NO, NO. _

Alfred groaned inwardly and sat back on his own bed, teeth bared to endure whatever snide comments the punk threw at him.

"Heh… should've seen that blush on your face, gay boy," said Arthur, grinning as he replaced his piercings. "I didn't think straight guys our age acted like such shy virgins."

Alfred kept in his uncomfortable feelings as he spat back, "You say _I'm_ gay. You're the one who left the door unlocked!"

"Hmph. I'm not gay," said the punk. Alfred smirked.

"Riiiight."

Arthur smiled. "I'm bi, actually."

"Exa-W-What?"

The punk snickered a little and lay out flat. "I can't deny I've slept with both teams…"

Alfred was lost for words. He was _not_ expecting that…

"What's the matter, eh? Never slept with a woman?" He grinned as he added, "Or a man?"

Alfred stiffened his back. "Neither. I've had no reason to."

Arthur, needless to say, burst out into hysterical laughter.

"What," hissed Alfred.

"H-How old are you?" choked out Arthur between laughs.

"Nineteen," he responded, keeping his voice level and laced with menace.

"And…" He snickered. "You're still a virgin?"

Alfred glared. "It's better than being a whore."

Arthur just laughed again. "It's not really, though, is it? At least I've slept with another human being."

"Pff. How many?" asked Alfred, eyebrow raised.

The punk gave him another of those grins. "Want the list from this week, mate?"

Alfred laughed and earned himself a disbelieving stare from Arthur.

"What's hilarious, gay boy?"

Alfred smirked and glared at him. "Whore."

"My name is Arthur," the punk growled.

"Sure, whatever. You're still a whore."

Arthur ignored him and began to dress, to which Alfred hastily averted his gaze. When he looked back, Arthur was dressed in a tight leather jacket, even tighter jeans studded with pins and chains, and a shirt displaying the Union Jack.

"You're leaving early," Alfred commented. He laughed a bit. "And are those girl's jeans?"

Arthur shot him an annoyed look. "I need to get there early to set up. And what the hell would you know about girls? I mean, you'll never touch one in your life, gay boy."

That was it for Alfred.

"I'M NOT FUCKING _GAY_!" he yelled, storming over and grabbing Arthur by his shirt, snarling, feeling rather victorious inside at the shocked expression on the punk's face. Unfortunately, his moment of glory was short-lived, as Arthur drew a knife from his pocket and held it at Alfred's neck, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't mess with me. Savvy?" he growled. Alfred's eyes widened and he backed away, not before Arthur had strongly kicked him in his vital regions.

Keeling over, Alfred glared up at the punk. How the hell did he ever think this guy was cute? He was just a _punk. _Nothing more. A filthy, dirty, evil punk.

"Have fun being alone tonight, gay boy.~" Arthur sneered, turning to leave, picking up his guitar bag.

"At least I don't have to sleep around to feel loved," spat Alfred.

He could've sworn he saw a change in Arthur's posture for a second, his acidic green eyes widening for less than a moment, before he gritted his teeth and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Alfred grinned despite the pain, knowing he'd finally touched a nerve.

There was a miserable sigh from the other side of the door.

Alfred assumed it was somebody else.

**This chapter seems a little bland to me… D: The next one will be better, I promise! And a few rather important things have happened in this chapter.~**


	5. Chapter 5

**More Francis in this chapter. ^^ **

It took Alfred a few moments after the punk had left the room to recover himself and get to his feet, teeth gritted. His heart was still flipping in his throat from being threatened with a knife. The evil intentions behind Arthur's green gaze was still as chilling as it was madly intoxicating… Why was his physical appearance so distasteful and punkish, yet incredible? Alfred couldn't understand what the hell he was thinking.

He just knew he hated the guts out of that _punk_.

There was a soft knock on the door, and a pleasant call.

"Alfred?~"

Recognising the thick French accent, Alfred straightened himself out and opened the door to a concerned-looking Francis.

"_Mon ami_, are you alright? I 'eard rumours zhat you were staying with Arthur… how've you been coping? Is 'e amazing in real life as 'e is on stage?"

Francis smiled as he walked into the dorm room and sat on Alfred's bed, watching as the other blond's eyes flashed with vicious contempt at the sound of Arthur's name and Francis's comment.

"He kicked me in the balls, threatened me with a knife, smokes in the room and keeps calling me gay! He aint amazing!" Alfred snarled, fists clenched.

Francis's genuinely surprised expression made Alfred want to punch him in the face.

"R-Really?" he asked, to a frustrated nod from Alfred. "Well, 'e's a punk, I guess… what do you expect?"

"No damn excuse," growled Alfred.

There was a short silence before Francis's eyes glowed happily with a sudden idea. "You need a night out, _mon ami_."

"No. I need him to leave."

Francis sighed and threw an arm around Alfred's shoulders. "Sssh… _non_, you definitely need a night out, and you'll 'ave one." The Frenchman smiled. "We can go to the bar, if you like.~"

Alfred contemplated the idea of getting drunk off his mind and forgetting all about that punk for a while, spending a bit of time with Francis for once, and not being anywhere near Arthur. It sounded wonderful.

Then again, it was insanely difficult for Alfred to get wasted, a lot of money would be spent on alcohol, and heaven forbid what Francis might do to him when he was no longer sober…

But, no Arthur for a while.

"Sure, dude, why not?"

Francis smiled. "Great! I'll pick you up later."

Alfred nodded and lay back. "OK, thanks," he said, watching as the Frenchman left his dorm room and closed the door.

He smiled slightly. Screw Arthur for thinking he had no social life. He was going to go out tonight and have a damn good time, without him.

…

The second knock on the door came all too soon. Alfred had been pleasantly sleeping for the past couple of hours, having a rather satisfying dream including a young man with the blondest hair and smouldering green eyes... He was disappointed to be woken so abruptly by thunderous and rather impatient knocking on his door, courtesy of Francis.

"_Mon ami, _are you ready yet?" he called. Alfred scrambled out of bed, changing quickly into a pair of dark jeans and a shirt before running to meet Francis outside the door.

"Yeah, sorry dude."

Francis smiled and ran a slender hand through his hair. "Alright, let's go.~"

Surprisingly, the streets were quieter today. The club was buzzing as it normally did at this time, but less screaming came from the doors, and less were huddled around outside trying to glimpse the performer through the heads of everyone else. It was evident that Arthur wasn't there.

"Hm? Something distracting you, Alfred?" Francis asked. Alfred hastily shook his head.

"Nah. Nothing."

The two young men walked a little further until they reached a cluster of girls outside the front of the bar, giggling and blushing madly. Francis smiled and approached them.

"Excuse us, darlings," he purred, blowing a kiss, such a movement that would normally send any girl's heart into thudding overdrive and reduce some to a fainted, blushing wreck, yet it did nothing.

Francis stepped back in horror.

"W-What…?" he muttered, sounding worried, checking himself in the reflection of a window and running fingers through his hair in a panic to check everything was still there.

"You look fine, Francis," assured Alfred, peering through the same window. There was a performance going on, it seemed, god knows who was attracting so much attention in such a little bar.

"_Oui…oui, _I know," Francis replied, straightening out. The girls had taken notice and had only blushed a little bit more, parting to create a tiny gap in which the two teen males barely managed to squeeze through to get into the bar.

"Good place, zis," said Francis, making his way over to the bartop and proceeded to intricately flirt with a maid, earning himself a free bottle of vodka and a peck on the cheek. He bought another, tipped the lady for being pretty, and waltzed back over to Alfred - or at least, where Alfred had been standing.

"_Mon ami?_" he called, frantically looking about in the crowd.

Alfred had been shoved around by a few clusters of people moving in different directions, causing him to spin right into the crowd making all of the squealing and other annoying noise. He glanced up at the performing stage and his jaw dropped.

_Arthur._

…_Damn, he looked good._

Heavier eyeliner seemed to suit him beautifully under neon spotlight, the colours in his hair sparkling in limelight almost as much as the twinkling piercings that studded his face.

Alfred racked his brains to think of something _bad _about the punk but he couldn't, not right now. Everything seemed to fit him perfectly when he was performing.

And his voice.

_God, his **voice.**_

He had been somewhat lucky that he had appeared near the stage when Arthur began singing a new song. His tattooed fingers slid effortlessly over the strings of his guitar, and he sang like a demonic angel.

"_The seven seas are like my back yard!_

_My life, full of romance and plundering._

_Our Empire ruled over half of the world._

_Mm.~ Tea is so delicious!_

_I'm damn proud to be a British Gentleman!_

_Being smart is important!_

_I'll show you my composure!_

_From the cradle, to the grave!"_

It seemed to be some sort of false-anarchy song, which seemed slightly out of character for any punk. Weren't they supposed to hate their country? But then again, this was America, so a bit of patriotism would be arrogantly natural for any British person, Alfred thought.

"_Yes, I'm British!_

_Black magic, curses and anarchy!_

_All of my sarcasm is in good taste!_

_Stiff upper lip, go forward!"_

Weird lyrics as they were, the song was pretty good. The fangirls sure approved, littering the stage with flowers and tokens… among _other_ things… and Arthur seemed to be lapping up the attention like a cat with a huge bowl of cream. And god, if there was anything to hate about the punk, it was how freaking _smug _he was.

"Alfred!" came an impatient yell. Alfred turned slightly hesitantly to see Francis.

"I was worried!" he shouted over the music, pulling Alfred out of the clustering fangirls and into the street, passing him a bottle of vodka.

"Anyway, I thought you 'ated 'im," said Francis. Alfred scoffed.

"He's… mainstream," he said. Francis smiled and walked across the road back to the dorm complex.

"I guess so…"

Alfred growled, remembering all of the bad things about Arthur now he was out of the brainwashing bubble of his concerts. "He's a prick," he spat, "Taking advantage of those girls."

Francis nodded and opened Alfred's dorm door. "At least 'e's not 'ere tonight, _oui?"_

"Yeah, but he will be…"

The French student grinned. "Zhen drink your problems away!" he suggested, like this was the most logical solution on Earth.

And Alfred; glancing over at the punk's filthy side of the room, his knife glittering under his pillow, his piles of shitty music, and remembering that horrible, conceited smirk he always had; obeyed.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm really sorry for the erratic updating, I'll try and get some sort of schedule. If a chapter isn't updated at least per month, feel free to spam my inbox. ^^**

**This is one of my favourite chapters yet. :3**

…

Oh, dear God. This was horrible.

Every sound was like a thunderous, untuned symphony, every intake of breath was like swallowing ice, and every cell in his brain shrieked and screamed and ran amok in his head pounding repeatedly at his skull.

He moaned in pain and rolled over, whimpering. If drinking caused this, he'd never touch alcohol again in his life… He felt so nauseous, but without the strength to heave himself to the bathroom or even to his feet. He groaned again, shuffling across his bed for a little more comfort, letting his eyes flutter open and struggle against the sudden blinding brightness of the world.

And the sight of what was possibly the lastthing he ever wanted to see in this situation loomed into view.

Arthur Kirkland.

Laughing.

_The bastard._

"Rough night?" he jeered, that ever-smug smirk tickling at his lips.

Alfred threw up on him.

...

It didn't take a genius to know that Arthur was thoroughly disgusted by that, and as he stripped out of his dirtied clothes to hastily shower, Alfred dreaded to think how many times Arthur would tease him about it again.

"Ug…gh…" Alfred groaned, staggering out of bed and blinking stupidly in the light, his ears struggling to keep up with hearing Arthur's constant complaints.

"Dammit, my colours'll fade out a lot quicker now, thanks to you," he called from in the shower. Alfred mentally thanked him for leaving the door open again as he stumbled into the bathroom and lurched over the toilet.

Surprisingly, it wasn't long before the arrogant voice behind the shower curtain sighed and shut up, replaced with a calmer, yet still annoyed tone.

"Get a glass of water, or something, idiot," Arthur said, turning off the water and stepping out to see Alfred half-unconscious on the bathroom floor. He groaned.

Alfred blinked in surprise as he felt two strong arms support underneath his and heave him rather forcefully to his feet. _Arthur? What was he playing at?_

The punk nudged the door open and carried Alfred back into the dorm, setting him down on the bed with surprising gentleness even though his face was contorted into a scowl.

"For Christ's sake!" Arthur snapped. "I'm not your bloody mother!"

Alfred blinked a couple of times, his eyes widening… he'd never get used to seeing that much of Arthur's skin. It didn't _excite_ him, he wasn't _gay_ or anything, but it was so… flawless. Exotic tattoos were dotted about on his body and studded with piercings, and his chest was to die for… _Yeah, but only if I was a girl! _Alfred tried to convince himself. At least there was a towel around his waist this time.

The punk slammed a glass of water on the table beside Alfred. "Now hurry up and get better," he muttered, lying down on his own bed and chancing a glance over at Alfred every few moments.

Alfred immediately took the water and gulped it down, groaning as he lay flat on his bed and hoping the acidic tang in his mouth would fade because of it.

"You alright?" asked Arthur, after a while. Alfred moaned and shook his head, earning a soft smirk from Arthur.

"Course you're not. That's a nasty hangover, I saw the vodka bottles. Didn't save some for me, eh?"

Alfred growled. "You don't deserve any… you sounded wasted enough last night."

It only took a few seconds for Alfred to regret what he just said, and for Arthur to laugh at him.

"You came to watch me perform, then?" he jeered, smirking.

Alfred weakly spat in his direction. "I left, don't worry."

"It seems you aren't as lonely as I thought. Was that blonde chick your date, or what?"

Alfred glared. "Idiot… wassa guy."

Arthur burst out laughing. "NO," he spluttered. "That was a guy?"

"Yeah… then again, you wouldn't care 'bout genders… you'd fuck anything."

The punk grinned. "Probably right." He reached into his bag and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and in a few seconds Alfred knew what he was doing.

"Ugh, don't you dare," he growled. "Put 'em away…"

Arthur smirked. "You're not in much of a position to stop me," he pointed out, lighting up.

Alfred moaned. "Put them away…!"

"Hmph." Arthur nudged open a window and shuffled closer to it. "Better?"

Alfred stared at him. "J'st… please."

"…" Arthur flicked the cigarette out of the window and shoved the packet deep into his bag. "Fine," he muttered, averting his gaze, his cheeks slightly tinted.

Alfred murmured his thanks and nuzzled closer into his sheets, his mind clearing a bit. His eyes wandered over to Arthur, whose hair was now at least half dry, and without gel it fell flat in front of his eyes and looked somehow… adorable.

"I… feel a little better," commented Alfred.

"Good," replied Arthur, taking out his guitar and polishing it with a small rag. He didn't look up from his guitar to talk, he seemed so absorbed in such a simple task, chewing softly on his plectrum as he worked.

Alfred honestly couldn't resist a small smile at that.

"I… kinda see why people like you," he said without thinking. Arthur looked up, looking slightly confused before his lips twitched into a smirk.

"Falling for me?~" he taunted.

Alfred scowled slightly. "Hardly," he muttered.

A little while passed before Arthur smirked again. "I know you're staring."

Alfred blushed. "…Watching, not staring."

"Is my guitar cleaning really that interesting?" Arthur teased.

"There's nothing better to do."

There was a short silence before Arthur flicked the rag across the room and pulled his guitar closer, running his fingers over the strings, the unplugged guitar humming peacefully and quietly.

"_We Brits believe in stars and sorcery…_

_From their power I see the future._

_Chinese cuisine is wonderful, too,_

_But our own cannot be beaten."_

Alfred sighed. "Stop singing, you know I don't enjoy it," he lied. The softer tone of the same song as last night didn't fit it as well, but it sounded so tranquil and relaxing – incredibly out of the punk's normal borders. Was he perhaps singing like this… for him?

"_Yes, I'm British, that's right,_

_Phenomena, physics, and Busby's Chair._

_Our comedy is also the best in the world,_

_My secret weapon – come forth."_

Arthur began to play an insanely complicated solo on the guitar, his fingers flitting over each chord effortlessly, something that would have sounded powerful and electrifying on an amplifier, yet so lulling without.

Alfred sank further into his pillows, the last thing he heard a smooth British voice over the quiet guitar.

"Goodnight."


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed to be an erratically recurring dream of his, now. He was standing in a field of flowers beside a barrier of translucent force, behind it a shadowed mirror of the same field full of dead life. A pair of sharp, green eyes would always gaze at him from behind the barrier, and Alfred would always stare back at the stunning, silent figure they belonged to. …_Arthur? _At any other time he would have protested and kicked himself for dreaming about _him_, but now he felt so calm, Arthur's song from last night still floating in his mind… how did it go again…

"*_GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! WE MEAN IT, MAN! WE LOVE OUR QUEEN! GOD SAVES!*"_

Alfred squeaked in terror and fell out of his bed, instinctively throwing off the headphones that were buzzing with that awful racket. The punk stood above him, finding the whole ordeal hilarious, of course. Ugh. Something about that jeering laugh made Alfred want to smack him in the face… and the more he thought about it – why didn't he?

It gave Alfred merciless glee to see Arthur's face in such shock as he hit him hard across the cheek.

"W-What the hell!" yelped Arthur, his cheek reddening. Alfred only laughed.

"You deserved it, you bastard," he said, grinning. Arthur glared and flopped back onto his bed, picking up the headphones and listening to the blaring music himself as he toyed with a lighter in his pocket. Alfred knew the dangers of him playing with fire, and he grimaced.

"You'll burn the freaking dorm down, you idiot. Turn that off," he warned. Arthur smirked, twirling the burning lighter around his fingers before continuing to flick it on and off.

Alfred groaned. "Dammit. When're you leaving?"

The punk pushed the lid of the lighter over the flame slowly. "What? You mean, for Christmas?"

_Not exactly. I meant forever._ Alfred thought bitterly before nodding. "Yeah."

Arthur paused. "W-Well, er… I'm not."

Alfred looked at him. It was unlike him to look… troubled.

"Huh? What'd'you mean, you're not going back?"

He shrugged. "I was going back to my apartment, but… the rent's cheaper here. Might as well stay."

Alfred narrowed his eyes in thought. "Hm…Alright."

Arthur scowled at him. "Why do you care?" he snapped.

"I don't," replied Alfred, huffily. "It's just, I'm staying, too. I wanted to know if you'd be here… Y'know, to fuck up my holidays, and it seems you are."

He chuckled. "Charmed." He rolled over slightly and looked at Alfred. "I'll be out performing a lot, so you wont see much of me. Better for you?"

"Yeah," Alfred snapped, looking away. The Briton shrugged and took a box of gel out of his drawer, running it through his hair, humming quietly. Alfred glanced over and scoffed.

"The hell are you doing with that?"

Arthur's facial expression didn't change. "What does it look like?"

"Putting all that crap in your hair. Makes you look stupid."

Arthur scowled. "It's not crap, it's gel. And I have a lot of fangirls who _like_ my hair."

Alfred glared. "Good for you. What's with the stupid colours, too?"

"Well, blonde on its own is incredibly boring, you know. I'd rather stand out than look dull."

"I'd rather look dull than stupid," Alfred jeered. "On some sorta gay pride parade?"

The punk laughed. "Says you, gay boy."

Alfred was about to retaliate in fury before Arthur stood and waltzed into the bathroom, nudging the door to with his foot. A soft clinking sound echoed in the small bathroom.

Alfred snickered. "What's that sound? Dropped your purse?~"

"Wallet, actually," came Arthur's demurely smug voice, "and it's full of more money than you'll ever get in your lifetime."

Alfred groaned and rolled over, his eyes widening as he checked the time. "DUDE, IT'S LIKE, 4 IN THE AFTERNOON!"

The punk walked out of the bathroom, his eyes rimmed with deep black. "Ooh, nothing gets past you." He grinned a little and sat down, pulling on his massive boots. "You were out of it for a while, y'know, after your excellent handling of alcohol. Didn't you think it was odd I was dressed?"

Alfred scowled. "Could've woke me up. Be lucky it's the damn holidays and I didn't miss any school…"

"Yeah, yeah," snickered Arthur. "Because you'd have cared anyway."

"I care about my education more than you, jackass," hissed Alfred as Arthur dressed into his arguably effeminate performance clothes and picked up his guitar bag. Alfred looked up a little.

"You're leaving? Aint it a bit early for you?"

Arthur smirked. "Big show tonight, should earn a lot of money from it."

"I don't care," muttered Alfred, his fist tightening around a black hoodie under his pillow.

"Alright," the punk laughed, lighting up as soon as he left the room.

…

Alfred painfully sat through about half an hour of nothing to do before sitting up and pulling on his hoodie, grinning at the mirror at his foolproof disguise.

_I have good reason to go to this gig.._ he reassured himself, crossing the busy road to get to_ Spades_. _I'm only going to see if his sex stories are true or not..._

He shivered a little in the December cold and adjusted his hood so it covered more of his face as he entered the club, taking a seat as close as he could to the stage which was even then considerably far back. The stage was lit in the colours of Arthur's hair, and the crowd of girls that had gathered seemed to have doubled in size, all squealing incomprehensibly.

Arthur smirked and entered the stage, again lapping up the attention and shining under the spotlight. His guitar was imprinted with the Union Jack and flashing with almost blinding light, the faultless sound ringing through the club and setting the crowds wild.

His talent definitely hadn't deteriorated in the past few days – Alfred's ears were in Heaven as he sat watching, an immovable grin on his face. He watched the punk's every move closely, and for a split second, so did Arthur. He could've sworn those gleaming, green eyes shone with recognition for a moment before they returned to his adoring fans, and Alfred felt his face flush heavily with a feeling that wasn't from the heat of the club.

He sort of sat there, entranced, blushing crazily even as the females filed out when Arthur had stopped performing. He didn't break from his mesmerized stupor until he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder with strength that could probably crack through his bones.

He whipped around, startled, as a huge bulky man grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him roughly against a wall, grinning as his victim's head hit the wall with a satisfying clunk.

Alfred struggled instinctively, yelling. "L-Let go of me, you fuckin-!"

His attacker waved open a flick-knife and held it at Alfred's hastily silenced mouth. He smirked and held it close to his neck before searching for anything of value he could steal, finding Alfred's dorm key and full wallet.

Alfred was shaking violently. "W-What are you.."

"What's it look like, bitch?" the man growled. "Got anything else?"

"N-No."

The captor jabbed the knife closer. "Tch. You'll 'ave to pay me back later, then." He drew the knife down Alfred's shirt and hoodie, slicing a jagged line down it and prodding his exposed flesh.

"With your body," he said throatily, grinning, yelling at some other man to find them a spare room upstairs.

"WHAT? YOU'RE FUCKING INSANE, DUDE!" Alfred kicked and struggled, yelling for help desperately at this point, not caring if the knife pierced his skin or not, reaching out with a shaking fist to beat the shit out of the man.

His attacked snarled even more, strangling him and shoving him back against the wall, shallowly slashing Alfred's face with the knife. "BITCH, KEEP STILL!" he roared, silenced only by the nonchalant cock of a gun.

Alfred's face was bleeding with a terrible, stinging pain as he looked over at the source of the silence.

…_Arthur._

The punk stood, his eyes narrowed dangerously, his hand clasped around a sleek silver pistol that he obtained from God knows where. He shoved it closer to Alfred's captor, shaking it from side to side to imply it was loaded.

"Get off," Arthur hissed.

The man had no choice but to let go of Alfred and back away, shaking with terror, his blood-trickled knife held weakly in his hand. He emptied his pockets hastily with all of Alfred's possessions, that Arthur scooped up into his free hand with another smirk.

The punk pretended to pull the trigger and step back with the impact.

"_Bang._"

It took less than a second for Alfred's attacker to turn around and flee the scene, howling, Arthur knowing to retract the gun before any more attention was drawn.

"Come on," growled Arthur, stalking out of the club.

Trembling from the cold, Alfred rushed forward without thinking and buried his face into the punk's jacket, breathing in the somehow comforting smell of warm leather and rum. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou…"

The harsh slap came as a bitter surprise.

Alfred looked up into Arthur's glaring eyes, his own brimming with unwelcome tears.

"Pull yourself _together_!" the punk snarled furiously, the hand that smacked him grabbing Alfred and dragging him roughly behind the bar, the hums of music thumping at the walls.

"Shut up!" he urged, shoving Alfred's keys and wallet back into his hands. He sniffed and clung to them as Arthur linked his arm through his and carted him forcefully through the streets, hand digging in uncomfortably. He didn't let go until thy had reached the dorm, and even after snatching Alfred's key to open the door he didn't let go of him.

The punk kicked open the door with a loud thud from his boot, and shoved Alfred into the room, throwing the door shut and fixing him with an irate green glare.

"What were you doing," he seethed.

"He… he just got me…"

"You could've bloody _died_, you wanker! Didn't you try and fight back?"

"I tried!" retaliated Alfred, glaring heatedly now that the shock was ebbing away. Why did Arthur _care_ what happened to him?

Arthur groaned and tossed down his guitar bag. "Just… watch yourself from now on, git. I won't always be there to protect you, or to pick up the pieces afterwards." He paused slightly. "…Got that?"

Alfred scowled and nodded. "Whatever."

What was the big concern over his safety? People got mugged all the time at clubs like _Spades,_ right? Getting involved was more likely to hurt Arthur…

He glanced over at the punk, who was seemingly to exhausted to strip out of his performance clothes as he flopped onto the covers, groaning heavily before succumbing to sleep.

It was then that Alfred realised that Arthur just might've protected him out of… love.

He kicked himself for being sappy and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>1- Sorry this took forever to come out. D:<strong>

**2- Sorry this chapter is a little longer than expected, I hope it didn't bore you… X3**

**Please review if you enjoyed this chapter! **


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred wasn't reliant on Arthur. Of course he wasn't! Just because he saved him from a situation that he was perfectly capable of dealing with himself _didn't_ make that stupid punk Alfred's saviour.

And that was the comfort that stayed with Alfred for a few days after the events at the bar.

"Was I good, then?" teased Arthur the next day, grinning smugly as he lay back on his bed. All the aggression he seemed to have yesterday had faded away into his usual demeanour – laid back and uncaring, and finding amusement in doing nothing. "You know, at the club."

Alfred found himself smiling. "Yeah. You… you got talent," he said without thinking. Arthur's smirk grew wider.

"Cheers," he said in that ever-gorgeous accent. "So, what made you wanna come?"

Alfred shrugged. "Lonely," he admitted, sighing. Arthur snickered at him.

"I don't disagree with that," he said. "You need to get a girl." His eyes flickered with sadistic amusement, "-or a boy."

"For the last fucking time, I'M NOT GAY!" yelled Alfred, furiously slamming his fist into his duvet. Arthur only laughed and leant back further into his pillows, flicking through his phone with ringed fingers.

_Bastard… _thought Alfred bitterly. _Why can't he make up his damn mind what he thinks of me._

"UGH! You're a stupid bitch and I HATE you!" screamed Arthur.

Eyes wide, Alfred glanced over at the punk, his heart impaled with knives at the insult. And when he realised that it was directed at an equally loud person over the punk's phone and not him, he gave a long sigh of relief as he covered his ears with a pillow to block out the heated argument with copious lewd swearing that Alfred had never even heard before in his life.

"I hope he _does_ so I can smash his stupid fucking face in for you!" snarled the punk, his eyes narrowed in a terrible rage as he threw his phone against the wall, completely shattering the back cover. Alfred flinched.

"You… ok?" he asked timidly, looking over at Arthur who was shaking with anger.

There was no reply, so Alfred tried again, thinking he hadn't quite heard him.

"Who was that, Arthur?"

The punk froze for a moment. "Oh, my… my brother."

Alfred frowned. "…Right, ok." _Why would he call his __**brother**__ a bitch? _he wondered.

"Hmph," he growled. "What date is it, anyway."

Slightly surprised by the change of subject, Alfred looked up at the wall to the dorm clock. "Oh… shit. Christmas Eve."

Arthur looked shocked. "No way! Feels like yesterday when we broke up."

Alfred smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah, I guess…"

Ignoring Alfred's rare look of happiness in this conversation, Arthur groaned again and sat up. "I'll exhaust myself to death, I'm performing tomorrow too."

Alfred pretended to be sympathetic, part of him wanting to strike up an ordinary conversation to stop the punk's dangerously angry attitude. "Seriously?"

"Well, it's Christmas, isn't it... everyone goes apeshit for that," Arthur replied. He chuckled sarcastically. "Still, I've got a break for the week after that. I can get some homework done."

Alfred scowled slightly. "Yeah, well, you should."

Arthur grinned. "And what for? I've got a career lined up ahead of me and enough money to last me a good year's rent."

Alfred growled and felt a twinge of jealousy at the trueness of that statement. He'd been trying as hard as he could to do well in his life, sure he wasn't the _best_ at most subjects, and not all the teachers liked him that much, but he freaking tried! Arthur didn't care, and he'd probably grow up to be a millionaire celebrity because of it. It wasn't fair. "Yeah, well…" Alfred began, "…what about after that, huh? What if you like, break your hand? You wont be able to play guitar then!"

He only smirked and tapped his foot against the wall. "I could still sing.~" he said gloatingly, glancing over at Alfred who was burning with annoyance. "Not _jealous,_ are we, gay boy?"

Alfred didn't even bother to retaliate, instead crawling under the covers miserably with a tired scowl. "No," he muttered. "Now shut up and let me sleep."

The punk snickered. "Of course, Alfred."

And alas, he was asleep long after he realized that Arthur had called him by his real name.

…

_This sucks. This really sucks._

Alfred stood in the shower, (which, as an added bonus, was cold at best because of the stupid Italians who tried to fix it last month), one foot perched on the edge of the rim and the other pressed up against the wall, all for the simple reason that Arthur's hair dye had ran deep into the ceramic, and if he touched it his foot would probably turn all colours of the rainbow. After washing himself in the space of 5 minutes he staggered out and dried himself off, only to be greeted with the blaring screams of the freaking Sex Pistols at 9 in the morning. What a wonderful Christmas morning.

"Turn that DOWN!" Alfred yelled, wrapping a towel loosely around his waist as he stormed out of the bathroom to glare at the bastard causing the noise.

"Good mornin' to you too," greeted Arthur lazily, sitting up and 'accidentally' nudging the volume higher with his elbow.

Alfred stared him down, his eyes narrowed. "Would ya turn that down like I asked you?" he hissed. Arthur only smirked.

"No thanks," he said, making himself comfortable against the bedstead and humming along to the music. "I like this song."

Alfred sighed and walked over, flicking the 'DOWN' switch multiple times until the music was virtually muted. His hand was smacked away by Arthur who proceeded to turn the boombox up even louder.

"Nice try~" taunted Arthur, keeping his hand firmly over the volume button so Alfred couldn't change it again, laughing when he tried to force his hand away.

"Stop that, you'll hurt yourself," he snickered. The clueless look on his stupid face as he was forced down against the bed was enough to make Alfred's day a lot better.

"W-Wh-"

"Let go, so I can turn it down," ordered Alfred, smirking, pinning Arthur firmly against the covers as he struggled.

"Get off me!" he growled, "you're still wet!"

"Nope~" teased Alfred, sticking his tongue out, delighting in making Arthur so angry. "You'll just turn it up more."

"So what?" spat the punk. "It's good bloody music!"

"It aint. And it's too loud!"

"Who cares besides you, gay boy?" yelled Arthur, struggling.

Alfred was about to protest before he felt a small breeze below his waist. He looked down in horror to see that his towel had slipped down onto the floor, revealing much more than he ever wanted the punk to see in his lifetime.

In his hasty scramble to cover himself up, Arthur reached up a finger and slid it down Alfred's chest, grinning. "Not bad," he said, throwing the towel at his face with an awful smirk that made Alfred's insides churn with discomfort. He blushed crazily and tied it firmly around his waist again, almost on the verge of tears and confused as to why.

"Hm?" muttered Arthur. "Shy, are we? Wouldn't've expected anything different from-"

"Shut up!" cried Alfred, clinging to his towel to make sure it wouldn't slip again.

Arthur looked slightly taken aback. "Calm down, you. Nothin' I've never seen before there, don't get so-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Alfred screamed, his body shaking. "It's none of your business!"

The punk lay back, still grinning like the bastard he was. "Problem?"

Alfred teared up as his mind was overwhelmed by feelings of desperation. _Dammit… I don't want him to know…_ Sure, he'd crushed on guys before, but… that didn't make him gay, right? And with a reaction like _that_ to being caught with his jewels on show…

"Arthur…"

He looked up lazily. "Mm?"

"I-I'm…" Alfred has immense trouble stuttering out what he wanted to say. His heart clenched and willing him to shut his stupid mouth, but Alfred was just sick of lying. Arthur would understand, right..?

"_Pff! Ahaha! I KNEW you were gay, you little fag! Wait till the whole school hears!" _

Alfred bit back tears to stop himself crying like a little girl. However that little bastard mocked him, he needed to do the mature thing and admit it…

"…I'm… I'm gay, Arthur."

He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the torrential waves of verbal abuse and laughter. When they didn't come, he plucked up the courage to open one eye, not caring if it forced a wimpy tear out or not.

Arthur was looking up with a small flicker of genuine emotion in his eyes. "I know. And?"

Alfred was speechless. He stared down at his feet, shaking. "It's… disgusting."

Arthur pretended to wince. "Ouch. That's a nice thing to say."

"S-Sorry!" he said hastily, remembering Arthur was bi.

The punk only gave a gentle smile that was so incredibly rare Alfred wondered if he was the same person. "It isn't disgusting. If you really thought that, you would've given me a proper beating when I came out to you."

Alfred realized how he'd been put on the spot and he blushed more. "H-Hmph. It's still wrong… _I'm_ wrong…"

Arthur's expression fell slightly. "It aint, Alfred," he said firmly. "All it is, is overrated. You can't help who or what you love." He shrugged. "And if you love someone, or something, there's nothin' you can do about it. Law and religion shouldn't stop you."

Alfred felt a warm arm snaking around his waist, at which point he let out a muffled scream and shuffled away. "G-Get off!"

Arthur scowled. "Pull yourself together," he growled. "Do you need a slap?"

Alfred shut up immediately, whimpering a little. "F-Fine," he muttered bitterly.

"Who cares? You know for a fact I'm bi! Don't come crying to me over your stupid petty problems!" the punk hissed, making Alfred shrink back even more, mainly because he hadn't forgotten that Arthur had a gun.

When his anger had subsided, Arthur picked up his guitar bag and put on his shoes, opening the door to leave. "Oh, also…"

Alfred looked up through blurred vision, already bracing himself for abuse.

The punk's cheeks dusted themselves rose pink. "Merry Christmas."

* * *

><p><strong>Not immensely proud of this chapter, to be honest, but thanks again for all the positive feedback! :D It makes me so happy!<strong>

**Also, thanks to the people who dub this as the best USUK fic, or the best Punk!England fic. I love you all to bits 3 If you want any specific thing to happen in this fic then please leave suggestions in the reviews and I might pick the best ones. ^_^**


	9. Chapter 9

Alfred had been pretty sure of his sexual orientation right back when he was in his early teens. He couldn't remember what school it was – his mother liked to move around a lot before she got bored and turned to drink, ditching Alfred in a boarding school – but he had his first 'proper crush' on a Russian exchange student named Ivan. He was far too insecure to admit it, being only 14 at the time, but he was certain that Ivan wouldn't return his feelings since he had a girlfriend himself. It depressed Alfred, sure, but he soon got over it and dated a few dozen girls, boredly rejecting each one in about a week, only bothering to pick them up because he felt that it was the natural thing to do.

He lay on his stiff bed right now, contemplating what had just happened. Arthur got pissy at him – but that was just Arthur being himself, right? Maybe he was angry at Alfred for not confessing it before… a glimmer of hope shone in Alfred's eyes, thinking that the reason Arthur got so annoyed was because he'd wanted to admit his love for him as well.

And with that crazy idea in his head, Alfred blindly reached for his clothes and was already out of the dormitory before he realised what his brain had led him to do. He groaned and smacked his head in annoyance.

"I don't like him… I don't like him…" he murmured. This wasn't exactly untrue. …Even so, after a bit of thought he decided that yes, he _did _like him - but only when he was being nice. And it was comforting to know that this was incredibly rare.

And so, once again, his "sort of" love for Alfred drove him to _Spades_ once again.

As he sat down, for some reason Alfred couldn't stop thinking about Arthur's phone. He had seemed strangely defensive over it lately, and he noticed that before the punk had 'stormed out' he had made sure his phone was safely in his pocket. He frowned. Maybe it was nothing. "Dammit… I'm just paranoid he's got a girlfriend now, aren't I?" he moaned.

He glanced up at the stage, his gaze wandering around until it fell on the door to the backstage rooms which appeared unlocked for some reason, no doubt where Arthur was prettying himself up in front of the mirror. Alfred stood up, his legs guiding him to the door out of pure curiosity.

The name plaque above the largest door read 'KIRKLAND'. That was Arthur's surname, right? He shrugged, nudging the door open a little bit and poking his head around the frame to take a look.

It was Arthur all right, slouched in front of the mirror clutching his phone. His heavily-rimmed eyes were both furious and downcast, and it looked like one of his piercings had been jammed in too far because his eyes were on the brink of tears.

Alfred was too taken aback by his appearance that he forgot that mirrors show reflections. Arthur whipped his head around, his eyes blazing. "W-What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Alfred jumped a little. "I… came to wish you good luck, dude!"

The punk narrowed his eyes, but he seemed a little less angry. "Whatever. Fine. Thank you. Buggar off."

The taller blonde frowned and walked inside the room. "Are you.. ok?" he asked, much to Arthur's irritation.

"I'm _fine._"

Alfred hesitated.

"C'mon, lighten up… I just wanna wish you luck!" Alfred began with a smile that masked his suddenly pounding heart. Arthur looked up at him, the florescent lights around the mirror making his cheeks appear a little redder than normal. _That __**is**__ from the lights, right?_

"…Thank you, then," he said, with a slight hint of real emotion in his voice. Alfred grinned as he watched Arthur pick up his guitar and approach him, his expression suddenly becoming rather adorably flustered.

Alfred took in Arthur's face from such a close angle – that flawless and pale skin that had suddenly taken a slightly reddened hue, those glittering piercings that shone brightly under the artificial light, and his remarkably gorgeous emerald green eyes that stared back at him too. _Maybe… he's admiring… me?_

"…Heh," muttered Arthur, glancing up. Alfred frowned and tilted his head back to meet the punk's almost mischievous gaze that led to the ceiling, but before he got the chance to even glimpse whatever he seemed so interested in, he felt the feeling of a cool, ringed finger slowly pull his head down to eye-contact.

Neither of them were sure what made them do it. Perhaps Arthur was a little tipsy from the sealed bottle of vodka on his dresser? Perhaps Alfred was delirious from the five minute walk across the street to _Spades?_ Who were they kidding. Regardless of whatever excuse they could come up with, Arthur's guitar was discarded to the floor and the two of them kissed.

The feeling of their lips together was phenomenal. The pure, warm and untouched feeling of Alfred's smashed together with the cold and bitter taste of Arthur's, the faint rusted texture of his lip ring mingling a coppery tang into the flavour of the kiss. Alfred could feel Arthur's firm, yet somewhat delicate arms finding their way around his waist and yanking him even closer, their bodies touching in every way that they could imagine.

And after what seemed like a lifetime of sheer bliss, the two pulled away from each other to breathe, and Arthur fixed a blushing Alfred with a devilishly handsome grin.

"Mistletoe."

* * *

><p><strong>LOOK, IT'S ACTUALLY A NEW CHAPTER. :D<strong>

**I've been so busy since July, school is insane! I'm so sorry. D: I've had writers block for a while, and I'm having a bit of trouble with the story plan… so I'm sorry that this chapter is rather short. :c**

**I sort of feel like I may be rushing things a bit, but I didn't want to tease the audience any longer. It's Chapter 9, for goodness sake. It's about time they kissed. X3 And don't get any ideas about where their relationship is going – this fic is anything but predictable.**

**Also, if you aren't aware, an awesome reviewer named '~starryabyss' has been translating my fic to post onto a Chinese fanfiction board (I hope that's correct, forgive me if I'm completely wrong ;n;) and apparently it's really popular over there, so much so that someone actually drew me some fanart! I'm not sure of the name of the fan who did it because my computer doesn't read foreign symbols very well, but I LOVE HER SO MUCH. :D**

**starry abyss . deviant art art/ Try-it-PUNK – 327 098 259**

**Take out the spaces if you'd like to see it – it's absolutely brilliant. ^_^**

**Keep the ideas coming, I'll do my best to squeeze them in if they'll work with the story! I love you all.~**


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